July was now a week old. I had overstayed my
leave several days and was waiting until I heard
from the Depot. My mental condition was a mixture
of procrastination and suspense, but the suspense
was beginning to get the upper hand of the procras-
tination, since it was just possible that the Adjutant
at Clitherland was assuming that I'd gone straight to
Cambridge.
Next morning the conundrum was solved by a
telegram, Report how situated. There was nothing
for it but to obey the terse instructions, so I com-
posed a letter (brief, courteous, and regretful) to
the Colonel, enclosing a typewritten copy of my state-
ment, apologizing for the trouble I was causing him,
and promising to return as soon as I heard from him.
I also sent a copy to Dottrell, with a letter in which I
hoped that my action would not be entirely disap-
proved of by the First Battalion. Who else was there, I
wondered, feeling rather rattled and confused. There
was Durley, of course, and Cromlech also—fancy my
forgetting him! I could rely on Durley to be sensible
and sympathetic; and David was in a convalescent
hospital in the Isle of Wight, so there was no likeli-
hood of his exerting himself with efforts to dissuade
me. I didn't want anyone to begin interfering on my
behalf. At least I hoped that I didn't; though there
were weak moments later on when I wished they
would. I read my statement through once more (though
I could have recited it only too easily) in a desperate
effort to calculate its effect on the Colonel. C7 am
making this statement as an act of wilful defiance of military
authority, because I believe that the War is being deliberately
prolonged by those who have the 'power to end it I am a
soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers. I
believe that this War, upon which I entered as a war of
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